


Safe Harbour

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:07:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the Jaime/Brienne online Comment Fic-a-thon.</p><p>Prompt: A sober Jaime puts a drunk Brienne to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Harbour

**Author's Note:**

> Written in haste.
> 
> I own nothing and owe GRRM everything.

It was cold and dark and the mulled wine was going down all too easily. She’d had the first cup to stave off frostbite, the second because her fingers and toes were still frozen; the third because it made her giggle constantly, her cheeks hot. She wanted another but Jaime wouldn’t get her one. She laughed at his refusal; it was easy to ignore him. Getting up from her chair required more effort than usual, and once up the room seemed to be in some kind of sea-faring vessel. No matter. She could see the bar and it was mere steps away. But moving from leaning against the wall was difficult. Her legs wouldn’t work. This might be a problem, she conceded with a frown of concentration. And then Jaime was in front of her, holding her up with his injured arm round her waist and a hand on the wall next to her head. 

“Gerroff!” she cried, trying to push him away.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” he asked, not letting go. 

She looked at him suspiciously, hands resting on his chest. “Right about what?” 

“That you can’t handle your drink. You couldn’t out-drink a mouse!”

She gaped at him in shock. “That’s not true! Not true! I’m fine!” He raised an eyebrow at her declaration. “No, don’t do that! It’s so annoying!”

“What are you talking about now, wench?”

She lifted her hand and brushed an indistinct finger over his eyebrow, biting her lip in concentration as she tried not poke him in the eye. “That! It makes me feel very…” she tried to think of the word, “small. I’m not small!”

He guffawed. “No, wench. You’re right about that.”

“Will you promise not to do it again?” She ran a finger over his eyebrow again.

“What do you promise in return?” She saw the glint in his eye and it made her giggle abruptly.

She thought hard for a second and then her face cleared. “I promise…to be nice.”

Another loud laugh from him surprised her. “Now now, wench, what have I said about promises you can’t keep?”

She hit him on his arm. “You’re horrid! Horrid and beastly and mean!” She wriggled fiercely in his grip but she gave up when he just clutched her tighter. She looked at him, forlorn now. “Why don’t you believe me?” 

“Didn’t say that.”

“Oh.”

“You are too easy to tease, you know.”

She sighed heavily. “Yes. I know,” she acknowledged, dropping her head. 

She felt warm fingers tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “And what would nice Brienne be like?”

She looked at him shyly. “I wouldn’t huff when you did something wrong. And I would let you win some of our sword-fights.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I would like that. Doesn’t sound like Brienne at all. At least the one I know and-” he stopped himself abruptly, having to take a deep searching breath to restrain himself. They watched each other for a moment until Brienne wearily put her head against his shoulder, her forehead just touching his neck.

“I’m tired, Jaime. I want my bed.” Her eyes closed as she nestled into the rough wool jerkin he wore.

She felt him move to her side, a hand guiding her own arm round his waist. She felt him walk her up the stairs; each step seemed further and further away. It was only when the smell of the wool and his skin’s stubbly warmth changed to that of cool cotton and hay that she knew she was in bed. She blinked her eyes open with great effort. He was kneeling next to her, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

“Need to take my boots off,” she murmured into the pillow. 

“Already done.” 

It was only when he said that she remembered his stump on her calf while the other hand slid the boot off. When he did the other boot, she had reached for the stump and held it tenderly in her hands, fingers running over its scars. She remembered his expression of helplessness, his face wan in the weak moonlight. 

“Jaime?”

“Yes?” His voice sounded far away.

“Please stay.”

She felt the bed shift as he sat on the edge. A warm hand enclosed hers. “I’m here.”


End file.
